


'Tis the Season

by remy (iamremy)



Series: 12 days of wincestmas - 2020 [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: 12 Days of Wincestmas (Supernatural), Christmas, Crack Treated Seriously, Humor, Krampus - Freeform, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Santa Claus - Freeform, but more like... canon compliant crack?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-13
Updated: 2020-01-13
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:08:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22242340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamremy/pseuds/remy
Summary: Sam and Dean get outshone on a hunt... by Santa Claus.Then they get married in a motel parking lot.
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Series: 12 days of wincestmas - 2020 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1601026
Comments: 7
Kudos: 65





	'Tis the Season

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sintari (OriginalSintari)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/OriginalSintari/gifts).



> finally bringing these here from tumblr!! these are the drabbles and fics i wrote my giftee for wincestmas 2020. i had so much fun doing it, and im really excited to finally be able to share these with everyone!

“Fuck you, you big old red son of a bitch!”

“That’ll be coal in _your_ stocking, you evil bastard!”

The rotund old man dressed in red delivers a rather impressive uppercut to the ugly faun-looking guy. Bizarro World Mr. Tumnus ducks, and growls threateningly from between teeth clenched tight and stained old-blood brown.

“Is this really happening?” Dean asks, disbelief coloring his tone.

“Kinda asking myself the same thing,” Sam replies, and then flinches when the faun thing screams and launches itself at – _fuck me, that’s Santa fucking Claus_ , thinks Dean hysterically.

Santa moves out of the way with surprising speed for a guy his size and age, and uses the faun’s own momentum against him, grabbing one of his horns and pushing him into the nearest wall. Dean watches, only dimly aware of his mouth hanging open, as Santa pulls out a glinting silver knife from his belt and stabs the goat thing. It howls, loud and shrill, and Sam jumps a little again before pressing himself into Dean’s side, not lowering his weapon even a little.

“Why don’t you just die?” Santa roars. It’s weird as _fuck_. The man – or whatever he is – doesn’t look jolly at all. Then again, it’s kind of hard to pull off the whole adorable-old-grandpa schtick when you’re brandishing a knife, thinks Dean.

“Santa stabbed Mr. Tumnus,” Dean tells Sam, as if Sam’s not watching the whole thing with wide eyes too.

“That’s not Mr. Tumnus, that’s Krampus,” Sam tells Dean, only half paying attention to the conversation.

“Oh, look, he stabbed him again.”

“Should we help?” Sam asks as Santa stabs Krampus a third time. The howling is getting deafening now. “I feel like we should help.”

Dean casts a contemplative look at the scene before him. Krampus is still shrieking, and Santa looks more and more pissy with each futile stabbing attempt. “Nah,” Dean says in the end. “Let’s leave them to it. Not a big fan of getting my ass handed to me by Santa. Or the goat thing.”

“Krampus.”

“Whatever.”

Finally getting tired of the whole thing, Santa lets out a frustrated “Ugh, _fuck_ my life” – and isn’t that the weirdest thing Dean’s ever heard – before grabbing Krampus by the horns and stuffing him face-first into the large sack he’s been lugging around. Dean opens his mouth to point out that there’s no fucking way that 8-foot tall Krampus is going to fit in there, but Sam elbows him to keep his mouth shut – and anyway, whatever mojo Santa’s got on his sack (and there are a million puns Dean could be making here but is choosing not to, a fact for which Sam should be thanking him on his knees) seems to apply to Krampus too.

“I’m not sure that I’m not dreaming right now,” Dean admits to Sam as they watch Krampus’s hooves vanish into the sack.

“I honestly wondered if we’d been drugged at some point,” Sam says. “Don’t think we were, though.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m real,” Santa cuts in, looking grumpy as all hell as he drags the sack to the honest-to-God sleigh parked next to the Impala. He swings, powerful and sure, and the sack lands in the backseat with a loud _thump_ and even louder “FUCK YOU!”

“FUCK YOU TOO!” Santa yells back.

“Fuck me,” Sam whispers, in an uncharacteristic display of disbelief.

“Later,” mutters Dean.

“Merry fuckin’ Christmas,” Santa grumbles, dusting his hands off and then his clothes. “Thanks for all the help, by the way.”

“You were doing fine on your own,” Dean points out.

“Yeah, this is nothing new,” sighs Santa. “Fucking Krampus. Told him a million times to stick to his territory and stay out of mine, but does he listen? _Fuck_ no. Who the hell even tortures kids these days, anyway?”

Sam and Dean share a look, and simultaneously arrive at the decision not to comment.

Santa continues ranting. “I mean, coal’s more than enough. Gets the message across, doesn’t it? Screw you, little Billy Bob, you were a little asshole the whole year, so now you don’t get presents while everyone else does. That’s punishment enough, in my opinion. Torture and all that is _totally_ uncalled for.”

“Totally,” Dean echoes. “So old school, right?”

Santa glowers at him, unamused. “Watch your mouth, or it’s coal in your stocking, too.”

Sam disguises his laugh with a cough.

“Joke’s on you, we don’t do Christmas,” Dean informs Santa squarely.

“Not what happened in 2007,” Santa retorts.

“Well, that was different,” Dean snaps.

“I think what Dean’s trying to say is that it’s a good thing you defeated Krampus,” Sam says hurriedly, when it begins to look like Santa’s considering tossing Dean in with Krampus too. “Since, you know, we probably couldn’t have done it on our own. And he was, you know. Torturing little children.”

“You’re welcome,” Santa says after a pause.

Sam gives him an awkward little smile, and to Dean’s surprise, Santa returns it. Fricking Sam, he thinks with a glower. Charming the pants off everyone around him with those damn puppy eyes. Including fricking Santa damned Claus.

“What are you going to do with him?” Sam asks, nodding towards the wriggling sack in the sleigh. Krampus, it seems, is not taking well to his imprisonment.

“Keep him locked up for a while, or something,” sighs Santa. “I’ll figure it out. Before that, though, I’m getting drunk off my ass.”

Dean blinks. “Is that allowed? I mean, don’t you have, I don’t know, presents to deliver?”

“Sack’s empty, genius,” Santa reminds him. “Means I’m done with all that. It’s happy hour now, and Lord, I deserve a drink or ten.”

“Think I kinda wanna get drunk too, honestly,” Dean tells him.

Santa snorts. “Don’t blame you. This is why I don’t talk to people, see. You humans have this weird image of me and it does not jibe at all with my thing.”

“Your thing?” Sam asks.

“Vodka,” Santa answers bluntly. “Lots and lots of vodka. And weed. All the weed.”

“I… see,” Sam says, looking like he can’t figure out how to process all of this. Dean can’t really blame him.

“Yeah, little kids probably don’t wanna find out Santa needs AA,” he comments.

“Pfft, I’m good,” says Santa. “Anyway, I better get going now. Since you two have not been _entirely_ useless, I guess I’ll give you guys a little souvenir.”

“We get presents? Sweet!” Dean grins.

“What kind of souvenir?” Sam asks, ever practical and wet-blankety.

Santa reaches into the backseat, plunges his arm into the sack – “You bite me again I’ll rip your face off, Krampus you fugly sumbitch!” – and withdraws it a few seconds later with two small boxes in the palm of his hand. There are bite marks in his forearm, which Sam stares at, while Dean focuses on the boxes.

“What are those?”

Santa tosses them in his direction, and he catches them. “See for yourself.” With that, he ties the sack closed again and then gets in the front. “Right, I’ll be going then. My weed and booze awaits. Come on, Rudolph, get going, boy, I don’t got all year!”

And with that, he’s off. Sam and Dean watch him leave, both of them staring at the sleigh literally takes off and flies into the sky, until it’s barely a speck against the moon.

“What the _fuck_ just happened?” Dean asks once Santa’s gone.

“We got upstaged on a hunt by Santa Claus,” Sam answers, sounding a little dazed. “And then he gave us presents.”

“Oh yeah, lemme check these out.” Dean puts one of the boxes down on the trunk of the Impala and then begins unwrapping the other. There is a smaller velvet box inside, and Dean’s heart almost stops when he sees it. “Holy shit.”

“What?” Sam asks, crowding in for a closer look.

“I think Santa gave me a ring,” Dean says, and then realizes that this is probably the weirdest thing he’s ever said out loud.

“A ring?” Sam repeats, and then grabs the other box. “Why would Santa– oh. Mine’s a ring too. What are we supposed to do with these?”

Dean’s taken the ring out of his box and is examining it in the dim moonlight. It seems to be made out of silver, plain except for a carving on the inside. “It’s got my initials on it,” he tells Sam, squinting at the D.W. on the inside, exactly like the carving in the Impala and on the bunker table.

“Yeah, mine too,” Sam tells him. “I don’t understand, though.”

“I–” Dean stops short as something clicks in his brain. “Wait. No way.”

“What?” Sam asks. “What is it?”

“Dude, I think Santa wants us to get married,” Dean says, and looks up to see Sam’s expression of disbelief. “No, really!” he insists. “I mean, why else would he give us matching rings with our initials on them?”

“Why does it matter to Santa if we’re married?” Sam asks, brow furrowed.

“Who cares?” Dean asks, shrugging. “I mean, it’s not a bad idea!”

“You want to get married?” Sam asks, raising an eyebrow.

“I mean, it’d be cool,” Dean says, trying to appear unaffected. But the truth is, it’s something he’s always wanted for himself, something he’s always wanted with Sam, hard physical proof of how much they mean to each other. And now that it’s literally in his hands, he can’t do anything to squash the rapidly-growing seed of yearning in his chest. He wants Sam to say yes, he really does.

“You want to get married because it’d be cool?”

“Are you just going to repeat everything I’m saying?”

Sam looks indignant, opening his mouth to retort, but then Dean raises an eyebrow and Sam shuts his mouth again. “You know what?” he says a second later. “Let’s do it.”

“Wait, seriously?” Dean asks, not sure if he’s heard Sam right.

Sam nods. “Yeah, why not?” He’s trying and failing to look casual, and it occurs to Dean that he probably wants this just as badly and irrationally as Dean does.

Then again, nothing about the two of them has ever really been logical, has it?

“Yeah, okay,” Dean says. “Sure. I’m not getting down on one knee, though,” he adds. “It’s cold as shit and I’m not getting my knees in the snow, okay?”

Sam laughs, cheeks and nose pink in the December air. “Yeah, wasn’t expecting you to,” he says. “Look, let’s just–” He grabs Dean’s hand, and slides the ring on.

“Oh. Okay, yeah, I can do that,” Dean says, and takes Sam’s hand, reciprocating the action.

The rings fit perfectly – of course they do – and for a moment both of them are completely quiet, looking down at their hands and then each other’s. It looks like the rings have always been there, Sam’s initials on Dean’s hand, Dean’s on Sam’s, and – Dean lets out a slightly hysterical laugh – real, physical proof.

“So that’s it? We’re married?” Sam asks.

“Well, not like we can get a priest and do the whole church thing,” Dean points out. “And we’ve always done things our own way. Why should this be any different?”

Sam smiles at that. “Yeah, okay, makes sense.”

“I still want my kiss, though,” Dean adds. “And we should totally consummate the marriage.”

“Somewhere warm,” Sam replies, cheeks reddening further as he flushes.

“Yeah, of course,” Dean says with an eye roll, and then grabs Sam’s face in both hands and brings him in for a searing kiss. 

That’s just how their lives are, he thinks as he puts his arms around Sam and lets Sam melt into him. They watch Santa beat the everliving shit out of Krampus, and then they impulsively get gay-incest-married in a snowy motel parking lot.

Dean wouldn’t change it for the world.

**Author's Note:**

> let me know what you thought! i can be found on tumblr @[thelegendofwinchester](https://chesterbennington.co.vu) :)
> 
> love,  
> remy


End file.
